


The Lady of Versailles

by helleruds



Category: Charles II: The Power and the Passion, English History - Fandom, French History - Fandom, History - Fandom, Kings & Queens - Fandom, Monarchs - Fandom, Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Charles II - Freeform, Charles You Slut, England - Freeform, English History, English Kings, F/M, French History, French Kings, French Revelution, History, Kings & Queens, Louis XIV - Freeform, Louise de Kéroualle - Freeform, Love, Mistress, Restoration, Restoration Era, Romance, Sad, actress, duchess - Freeform, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24770398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helleruds/pseuds/helleruds
Summary: Louise de Kéroualle is sent by the King of France, Louis XIV, as a spy to England, in the hopes that she shall catch the eye of King Charles II and become royal mistress - something that would earn her the ear of the King, and the ability to pass on vital information to the French Ambassador. The only problem - Louise has her own plans, and she is certain that the King of France would never allow them.
Relationships: Anne Hyde Duchess of York/James VII of Scotland | James II of England, Catherine of Braganza/Charles II of England, Charles I of England/Henriette Marie de France Queen of England., Charles II of England/Barbara Villiers, Charles II of England/Nell Gwynn, Henriette d'Angleterre/Louis XIV (Versailles 2015), Henriette d'Angleterre/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015), James VII of Scotland | James II of England/Mary of Modena, Louis XIV de France/María Teresa de Austria | Marie-Thérèse d'Autriche, Louis XIV/Louise de La Vallière (Versailles 2015), Louise de Kéroualle/Charles II
Kudos: 2





	1. 0. Prelude

Versailles, 1670

The midnight velvet sky was hung with an abundance of shimmering moonfruit, their wraith silver bodies casting shadows of light across the alabaster marble palace wall, dancing amongst the intricately oranemated golden gates of Versailles as the heavy luminescent moon drooped a sullen opal-grey amongst the blanket of stars, its great wondrous and enigmatic crescent shape seeming to cry out in yearning, for something so inexplicable to all those that it dared beam so brightly upon. Louise de Kéroualle's satin high-heeled feet danced upon the deep blue acanthus-embroidered carpet as she sauntered quiveringly down the sparsely lit corridor, her cherubic, pale face turning warm amongst the yellowy gleam that escaped the wickers of the ancient waxen candles. She grasped the filmy silk of her pale pink dress anxiously in her hands, her porcelain fingers sliding nervously on the fabric as her hands grew increasingly clammy with each step she took towards the end of the hall, to the large, ancient cherry-wood carved door, behind which, her fate sat. Louise's plump lips trembled as she sucked in a final, sharp breath before the door cracked open at a dreadfully slow pace, and she found herself inside the King's privy chambers.

Of course, she had not been invited into his bedchamber, as much as any of the courtiers would have yearned to catch a mere glimpse of the gilded room, Louise had been called into the silk panelled drawing room, and the circumstances of this invitation were as unknown to her as anybody else. She had a slight surmise as to what the conversation would consist of - Madame and her ill-fated and most untimely, heart-wrenchingly sad death - although that was a mere deduction based on the dismal event of the Madame Royale's demise being the most considerable topic amongst the court gossip. Louise herself had aided Madame as she lay blue-lipped and hollow cheeked, swathed in the yellow-with-sweat sheets; heaving and weeping with such sorrow that Louise had to scold herself for not taking proper care of Madame. Part of her believed that she had not cried out enough prayers for dear Henriette, or perhaps that God was punishing her for not remaining as pious or dedicated as he wished, since her arrival at court. But alas, it was so pain-stakingly obvious to all but Louise, that Madame had in fact, been suffering intense side pain for many years, although Louise was unlikely to ever forgive herself for her mistress' death.

The King stood grandly by the fireplace; an ominous, looming figure dressed in a ruffled white blouse with lace cuffs, a pearl-buttoned carmine satin coat, in which a cream lace cravat was tucked at the neck, petticoat breeches of the same shade, trimmed in pale grey ribbons that matched his stockings, and a pair of ribboned high heeled shoes that made him appear more than his five and a half foot stature. He turned once he heard the patter of Louise's mules dancing across the thick carpet, his swarthy face remaining mysterious even as his lips were drawn into a familiar and warm smile that seemed to ease the tension, and Louise's nerves enough for her to promptly shuffle over to where he stood, her skirts billowing, and giving him a deep curtsey. The king gave an abrupt nod before grasping her porcelain hand in his own and placing a flowery kiss upon it, lingering for just long enough that Louise was able to feel the heat of his lips brush against her skin, comforting, yet sultry, and her rouged cheeks were soon darkened to an even deeper red in flattery.

'Your majesty.' Louise curtseyed again, her face flushed and her manner appearing breathless.

'Mademoiselle,' He greeted, his deep brown eyes flickering in the golden light as the fire lay ablaze in the grand tulip-wood hearth. 'Perhaps you know why I asked for you?' Louise shook her head and he gave an exasperated 'ah', his lips stretching around the letters, dragging the simple exclamation in prolonging, as to give it emphasis. Louise was perched on her feet, poising anxiously as the king gazed over her. She could feel her hands become cool with a thin sheath of sweat, with a filminess alike to the fabric of her taffeta frock, her breath hitching as the king's eyes seemed to study her with such intent that she was unable to tell if he was watching her with scrutiny or ogle.

'Forgive me your majesty, for I am most uncertain...' Louise pressed her coral lips into a thin line as her perspiring fingers thumbed the flimsy shell-pink taffeta in a dreadful attempt to calm her nerves; an action that instead caused more diversion from her words to how apprehensively her fingers cavorted around the fabric.

'Henriette...' He glanced at Louise with a wistful, knowing look and Louise's face faltered into a melancholy, yet sumptuous frown. 'You no longer have a household to serve in Mademoiselle de Kéroualle, and considering that you have begun to lack potential, or riches, you can only hope that your beauty and wit offer prospect.'

Louise dropped her hands and tilted her head so as to glare straight into the eyes of the king; which at first seemed threatening and daunting until she realised his face showed nothing but a subtle kindness to her. He did not wish Louise to leave Versailles, but without a dowry or lands or a family name with any power, she had few uses for the king. She was beautiful enough to become a mistress, but had enough wit to deem such a practice dishonourable considering the vulgarities and debaucheries of the French court. The king pondered on the idea of sending her to England, knowing that she had much charm and a classic, dark beauty that attracted and overpowered King Charles, but getting Louise to agree to such a task would be impossible without some cruel manipulation, or extortionate offering. Though she came from humble, if not an impecunious background, nothing delighted her more than the grand, exuberant jewels the king often gifted to certain women. Alas, she may so shrewdly deny his grants and see the scheming behind his sumptuous bribery. The king was troubled by this thought, and did finally settle on a way of going about this new vocation for Louise.

'What will you do now that your mistress is dead?' The king asked Louise outright, and she knitted her dark eyebrows together in thought as he seemingly caught her awry with his words. Had he perhaps been more careful, Louise's face would be painted in a look of the same affection he gave her, instead of one of discontent.

'I do not know, your majesty.' She murmured sullenly, her burnt coffee eyes seeming to burn into his with a pitying intent.

'You have no dowry and few prospects in Paris, Mademoiselle.' The words echoed in Louise's ears, and though she knew them true, and had heard them countless times, she wished with all her heart that something would change, but alas, since Madame's death there was really nothing she could make of herself anymore. With no mistress, money or family to take her in, perhaps she would just have to do as the king asked, even if that meant she were to become a royal mistress; or worse, be sent away to a convent, or exiled from court. 'Though, word has reached me of the English king's regard for you. If you return to London I think you will soon find a comfortable situation.'

'I am not a whore.' The king flashed her a pearly white smile, which only dampened her mood further. Her mouth had wilted back into a sour lipped frown and her face presumed a poised but bitter look of utter disdain.

'You are in no position to defend your honour, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle.' The king said in a chortling; almost mocking tone. Louise visibly flinched as he thumbed his long fingers up her pale, bare arms, perhaps meaning to comfort her, though it all but caused her any such comfort. Her stomach broiled as she thought up all the other places he was sure to assault her with his abrasive touch. 'A royal mistress can be privy to many secrets. You could continue Madame's work for her brother... and also do great service to your country.'

'You wish me to be your spy?' Her eyes widened as she forged her forehead into a thin-lined wrinkle of confusion, her voice poised with a naive curiosity. The king raised his eyebrow and paused as he watched Louise's face contort itself in confusion and surprise.

'Charles' Queen is not strong, if she dies... He will need a new wife. Who knows what your fate might be if you secure his affection?' He said suggestively, waving his hand. Louise seemed to have warmed slightly to his proposition, but at such a risk to her honour, would it really be worth it? She stood with an intent look drawn upon her face, wondering how it would be possible to make an important, if not the most important decision of her life. The king was chillingly correct; England seemed her best prospect as she had no dowry and no more Madame to wait on. As dismal and dishonourable it would seem to become the mistress to Henriette's brother - the King of England - she would be brought great fortune and a more lavish lifestyle, and who would not want either. The king had already promised to secure her a few thousand livres as long as she had syphoned valuable information and passed it onto Charles' French Ambassador, but Louise was frantic to worry that perhaps if she was too hasty in handing over her maidenhead, that she would descend from favour all too fast, but if she took her time, that would leave her in a worse position with Louis. It was all so complicated, but then again, when had anything ever been simple? If she was to make something of herself, this was likely to be her only opportunity, and it was a very prospective one too. Otherwise she was sure that Louis would send her back for Brittany, where she would return to her sallow-faced, disappointed parents, without a husband, and in even worse a position than when she had left for Versailles three years ago.

'If it so pleases your majesty, I shall go.' Louise spoke wistfully, but knew that she was choosing the wisest path. All she could do now was hope that Madame was right about King Charles' voracious penchant for women. The king gave her an extremely pleased smile, and bent foreword to place a soft, lingering kiss with his tulip-lips on her rouged cheek, before sending her off - clammy handed - to thrust whatever she so scantily owned into a large chest, and prepare herself for the churnsome journey to London. Louise felt little beads of sweat form on her forehead as he escorted her clandestinely through the large mahogany doors and back to the silk panelled pantry-sized room that she had resided in for the past three years. It filled her with great sorrow to remove the last of her miniature portraits from the mullioned window ledge, and to grab the very dust ridden cornflower coloured slippers she had worn upon her arrival to Versailles, and toss them into the trunk with everything else. Perhaps a change of scenery and lifestyle would do her good.


	2. I. Louise meets the King

Hampton Court Palace, 1670

'I have lost my friends, your majesty. Perhaps you have seen them?' said Louise, as she entered the cabbage-lipped rose garden in her lovely taffeta gown of lavender, her hair in intricate inky ringlets, done up with ivory pearls, set off by the thin lace lavaliere that hung at her neck. Her silver satin mules crunched against the perfectly round pebbles of the lavishly vegetated privy gardens in the palace, coming to a sharp stop when she caught the king, lonesome and sorrowful, resting on the mahogany seat in a golden-brocade three piece suit, appearing awfully grand for a man with such a look of dismal petulance strained across his face.

'No, I've seen no one.' He responded with an air that gave off a tone of disinterest. Louise chewed at her lip and shot him a frantic glance, eyebrows furrowed into a dark line, worrying that his ostensible attraction to her had faded. The king remained ashen-faced and did not spare her a look, which left Louise in an even worse and childishly deject mood, her sallowy mouth trembling with a resentful sullen manner, almost appearing as if she were about to weep like an infantile, rosy-faced and wet-cheeked child who hadn't had their way.

Louise drew in a sharp breath and huffed, reminding herself that she must remain sweet and kind-hearted, but with just enough wit and beauty to keep the King interested. Nobody wanted a juvenile French girl who spoke with a thick-lipped Breton accent, wore ridiculously embellished dresses and was frequently seen sobbing into a hand-embroidered handkerchief. The English preferred witty, pretty and nonchalant women, who would not interfere with manly matters such as politics and state affairs, but were able to hold intelligible conversations where they would remain polite and attractive. It was much the same in France, but women weren't as often labelled blue-stockings if they attended salons, indulged in fine literature or discussed current political situations. Though, Louise had much to learn, so she thought it very well that she was more quick-witted than her English counterparts. Perhaps she would be able to entertain the King after all, although she did not have it in her heart to act as a spy despite it being her sole purpose in England. Louise was too good-natured and affectionate to betray the frivolous secrets of the English government, but she also did not wish to devastate Louis by refusing to privately converse with the French Ambassador.

The king glanced back over to where she stood, a frustrated - no, disdainful - look painted upon her face, as if she were suppressing a bout of tears. He cleared his throat, and found that Louise abruptly flickered her burnt-coffee eyes back to meet his deep-umber, smouldering glance. They both presumed looks of bashful despair; the king at a loss for words and Louise hiding scant behind the fact that she was so unsure of how to not make a complete fool of herself. Though she had rehearsed a scene quite akin to this over and over in her head, her dark brows tossed together in thought, and plump lips spilling quick sentences, Louise found herself at a complete loss of words. Charles was by no means intimidating; at least compared to Louis, who was dubbed the glorious, golden sun that glared down on his court of exuberant and resplendent, yet utterly foolish courtiers, and commanded with an iron firmness and cold-heart. Despite his large stature, Charles was well bred, with a swarthy, kind face and gregarious attitude which gained the love of not only his court, but the common people. She was for the most part, concerned that she would appear either a complete fool in front of the King, or make herself up as too witty; when she really lacked a sharp-tongue, and was more invested in commiseration and consciousness.

After a pregnant pause, in which an ivory winged dove managed to flit by wistfully, kissing the fuchsia azaleas and pearly begonias with its delicate touch, Louise drew her lips together in an almost petal-like manner, and dropped her porcelain, marble-heavy hands by her skirt, where they hung and trembled like paperweights. She decided that perhaps the most polite progression of the conversation, was a simple, yet warming thank you. It was always doted upon when you remained full of appreciation; as tender-hearted as marmalade on toast and hot chocolate in floral adorned china cups was on a chilly, pear-boned winter's morning. Louise brushed a curly strand of her chocolate-coloured hair which hung over her dark eyes, and tucked it gently behind her ears before assuming a shaky, but plucky stance, and then continued the slightly skittish conversation by thanking the King, in her sing-song honey-like voice, the words dancing from her nervous lips.

'Your majesty has been most kind since I came from Paris.' Louise expressed, voice heavy with gratitude. The king tossed her a most kindly smile, peering at her with his honey-hazel eyes.

'My sister always spoke very fondly of you, Mademoiselle.' Charles said ruefully, studying Louise's sullen, thin-lipped appearance with such intent that Louise herself wondered if he was attempting to read into her very soul, though it seemed such an odd thing to do for someone who was usually regarded as frivolous — perhaps he was ogling her chest instead.

'Poor Madame, she was so good. I loved her so very much.' Louise's face contorted itself into a quietly miserable frown in remembrance of dearest Madame, her dark eyes becoming more dour and wet with despair as a stream of pearly tears rolled down her cherubic cheeks. She had tried to choke back her cries, but it was much too difficult to remain jovial when she was accompanied by the vast amounts of grief that loomed around her head, as if it were a marble-heavy rain-cloud that drenched all that was good in the world. Although, Louise could not fathom how the King must have felt to lose his baby sister. Poor Henriette - so sullen she had been in her final moments... It shattered Louise's heart like a porcelain statue to cast her wistful thoughts back to the claggy, velvet midnight that seemed to have swaddled and enveloped the world with a viper-like poison as Henriette lay dying. Charles himself cast a quiet look of grief across his face as he saw Louise glowering morosely.

'Did she suffer terribly?' Charles asked with a trembling lip. Louise nodded glumly, her dark head of curls drooping and eyes falling downcast to glare with utmost melancholy at the opal-grey pebbles. She could not bare it to glance back up, the fat tear droplets spilling down her waxen face like sticky honey, the sobs catching at the back of her throat, leaving her to heave a near inaudible rasp in attempts to desist an ugly wail from tumbling out her pretty pink lips.

'She was never afraid, your majesty. Even at the end.' Louise murmured gloomily, with a feeling of melancholic disdain in her large coffee coloured eyes, that Charles too, seemed to share. 'She told me that her only sorrow was in leaving you. Your life was dearer to her than her own.' The king fiddled with the foppish lace that drooped from his sleeves - akin to a delicately cast spiderweb, or the first petals of blanche snow wilting from the blanketed sky in winter - swallowing thickly as he found himself utmost disdain with the conversation of little Minette.

First had been his cold-hearted, harking mother the previous spring, who had drifted through the latter half of her life like a spindly phantom — she had never so much as smiled or felt a sliver of happiness since the execution of her husband. Charles and his brother had both regarded her as on the threshold of death for the last twenty years, so when the Queen Mother slipped from the world of the living due to a heavy-bout of bronchitis, neither Charles nor James appeared surprised, though both were heavy-hearted and glum with sadness at their loss. Now, it was his favourite sister - Henriette, Madame Royale, Philippe's 'unloved' wife - who had passed on with such an air of mystery at 26, that talk of her death would dance from courtier's gilded lips for months to come. Charles had lost so much in the last twenty years that all he was able to do was grin and bear it, but it was too barren and harsh to disregard his own feelings, even if that meant he appeared with cowardice to his people. Surely they were not so heartless as to name their king feeble or weak?

Both paused for a moment, wistful with their porcelain mouths formed into thin-lipped pouts as they remembered poor Henriette, who had been brought to her ill-fated demise much too early. Now Charles had only his dismal and womanising brother James. What a poor, poor family - so blighted and hapless they are, thought Louise, with a fretful and petulant sigh of mourning at the loss of dear Madame. Now she was left with no dowry, no Madame to wait on, and had hardly a title to her name. Perhaps Louis was right... she ought to earn herself a place in England, if he was so certain of the king's fondness for her, Louise would have a sure chance at attaining merit.

Though, there was always one thing to rely on, and that was Charles' grand appetite for young women, although she'd have to play hard to get if she wished to be more than just a toss away one night stand. Louise most certainly did not wish to be disgraced. Madame had whispered to her before they were met with the King and Duke of York at Dover, about maintaining her honour and not being seduced into the bed of either of her brothers, so that Louise would remain pure and pious until she was wed — if she were to be wed. Although without a dowry, things weren't looking up for Louise.

'Thank you, Mademoiselle.' Charles murmured sorrowfully, his thoughts not straying from Henriette. Another - though shorter - pause rang dead silent through the cabbaged lipped allotted grounds of Hampton Court, the only sounds being the jitter of far-straying courtiers and the crunch of their mules against the ashen pebbles as they strolled through the thickly vegetated and hedge-lined grounds.

Louise's thick-framing lashes fluttered as she cast her eyes up to meet the king with a clandestine glance, her rouged-cheeks dark with a flush as she peered at his most handsome face. He was tall, swarthy, with the same dark, all-knowing eyes as King Louis - albeit, more friendly - and carried himself with a thick-lipped smile, which dimpled when he was merry, though that was lacking when he spoke to her. He had a full head of thick, inky curls, and a thin, almost wiry moustache that tickled the edges of his lips. Louise had not gotten the chance to examine his delicate face so closely until now, and could declare with utmost certainty that he was one of the handsomest men she had ever had the pleasure of being introduced to. Though, she was uncertain whether Charles regarded her as good-looking as Louis had decreed to her back at Versailles. After all, that was the most vital part of her vocation in England. If he did not see a reason in bedding her - which was very unlikely, considering his over-reigning desire for women - she would cease to inherit all the jewels and fortune that King Louis had so staunchly promised.

'Sit down.' Charles remarked in a most friendly manner, leaving Louise with a rosy-cheeked smile plastered across her wraith-like face. She gathered her skirts in the palm of her hand and bent down to perch shakingly nervous on the edge of the little wooden seat. 'My sister took your good name, most seriously. The protection of your honour was her most pressing concern.' Charles pursed his lips into a thin line, and Louise's face wilted into a wide-eyed, almost babyish look, her petal-like mouth hanging a slight agape.

'My honour, was my honour fair now?' Louise challenged, her childlike, cherubic face lighting up as the King indulged in the conversation exactly as she had planned. 'And with your sister gone, I must find another protector now. But alas sir, I have no money of my own, I cannot remain in England. Unless of course, your majesty wishes me to stay...' Louise's charming words flittered off, leaving the King with a new-found glee plastered across his swarthy face, and an attitude of wonderment at the beguiling charm and figure of this chestnut-haired, coffee-eyed, cherubic French girl, who dribbled milky tears with such sullen intent and seemed to poise her Breton thick-lipped accent perfectly with each sentence that she sung.

'His majesty could think of nothing more charming.' Charles' dark eyes glimmered with hot-blooded lust as Louise sidled herself across the edge of the lurid and lumpy mahogany seat, slyly but surely prowling closer to the king. She batted her dagger-like thick eyelashes, and ogled him in an almost lecherous manner as he sat with one leg tossed over the other a little too carelessly for a king, though had his hands clasped in a gentlemanly manner. Louise was close enough to him that she was sure he could hear her little plum-heart thumping and fluttering with every breath she took. Her hands were sheathed in the same clammy layer of sweat that had encased her hands when she spoke to King Louis, and her bottom lip trembled as Charles cast his dark eyes over her body with a look of ardent admiration, his own breath prickling sweetly at her porcelain, pearl-choked neck.

'You may kiss me now, if you wish.' Louise puckered her petal lips and drooped her eyelids shut, so her little black lashes flitted against her rouged cheeks as she awaited his own flowery touch. She had never been so upfront in her life, but right now she felt with utmost certainty that this was the right manner to go about her vocation, sure that a soft-hearted kiss would not be scorned or scalded by God. Charles cocked a dark eyebrow with vigour, and choked back a wry chuckle at how simple it had been to entice the rubenesque baby-faced Louise with his seductive charm. Obligingly, he pressed his coral lips to hers with a fleeting kindness and a touch that left Louise to remain bug-eyed and truly enthralled, his mouth lingering just long enough to keep both himself and Louise satisfied, though he would need much more gratification if Louise wished to become royal mistress - and she was certainly not going to part with her most prized possession until she was absolutely certain. As her mother had always beratingly declared; a woman was of no use if she had discarded her maidenhead before marriage. Those who remained pure were always rewarded with God's grace.


End file.
